


Scotland, Slayers, and Secrets

by rebaobsessions



Series: Monsters by Any Other Name [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8621311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebaobsessions/pseuds/rebaobsessions
Summary: Since the battle at the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, the Slayers have managed to get back on their feet. Over the past three years, they've implemented a semblance of order world-wide with their own personal version of the (previously obliterated) Watcher's Council. Buffy is located in Scotland with Dawn and Xander, turning out expert Slayers at an impressive rate. It is, for the most part, utterly routine. No big-bads, no apocalypses, no death. Just routine dusting missions. That is... until the beheadings start.The Slayers sent to investigate can't figure it out. Dawn turns up a terrifying historical pattern. Giles shows up with a few answers and just as many secrets.Buffy thought she'd seen it all, but over the course of a few days her world is broadened yet again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you are a fan of the Buffy comics, I am terribly sorry, but no. Just, no.  
> If you are confused by how I talk about Team Angel, just bear in mind that in this universe Darla never happened-- so no Connor or any of that complete... ummm... I'll keep my opinions to myself.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Scotland was supposed to be quiet. It was supposed to be a _break_. It was supposed to be a place that Buffy could take a breath after the insanity of Sunnydale, and the two and a half years of utter mayhem that followed. It was supposed to be slightly rustic and isolated enough from the chaos of the world that she could get her shit together.

And for a while it was perfect.

Buffy had let Dawn pick where they went, after she’d graduated high school in Cleveland. Surprisingly, she chose an old castle out in the rolling countryside… all the way across the ocean. Despite her initial reservations, the Slayer had fallen in love; it was peaceful and remote and an utterly perfect place to take a break and train up a new generation of Slayers. It wasn’t exactly Slayer Central, but it was headquarters and where almost all Slayers were sent to be trained. When it came to the good old Scooby gang, it was mostly just the two Summers sisters and Xander up there.

Willow had wandered off to… San Francisco? Yeah. The good old Californian coast. Apparently she had found some uber-witches to show her their stuff. Last time Buffy had talked to her, she went off on a ramble about guardian angels for witches or something. Buffy honestly didn’t understand most of it, but it had prompted Dawn to ensconce herself in the library for a week, so it must have been good.

Andrew was in Italy. He was running a pretty tight ship with a Slayer who had fought at the Hellmouth, Kennedy. Her serious nature seemed to balance out his go-with-the-flow attitude. (He was still as annoying as ever, however.) The other Sunnydale veterans were scattered around the world. Violet was in New York. Rona was in Chicago. Chao-Ahn was somewhere in China. You get the idea. In general, they were all evenly distributed around the world and all leading squads of Slayers, training or sending newbies to Buffy to be trained. Additionally they all had Watchers at their sides, writing reports and guiding them. It was almost a miracle.

Faith was in Cleveland with Robin, running a Slayer squad and training newbies just like the others— when she wasn’t running around the world. Regardless of their past feuds, Buffy couldn’t help being thankful for the other veteran Slayer; her insight into the organization of the new Slayer community was a lifesaver. Especially since she volunteered to do all the leg work. Her exact words had been, _“Put your feet up, B. Take a break from running the world. I’ve got no beef with playing the messenger.”_

Giles was another lifesaver when it came to the Slayer network. He had been traveling around a bunch, waving his magic wand and producing trusted academics with a perchance for self-defense wherever he went. It was incredible and wonderful. The influx of new Watchers meant it was much easier to manage the oodles of new Slayers than if they’d been on their own.

Angel and Spike were still in LA (Spike now once again corporeal), and were somehow managing not to kill each other. Angel Investigations was still battling steadily against Wolfram and Hart and helping the little man, so to speak. Buffy had never met the team, but apparently two of them—a Gunn and Fred?—were in a happy relationship, as were (much to everyone’s surprise) Angel and Cordelia. That left Wesley (who had apparently had a few flings with an evil lawyer), Spike, and the singing demon Lorne as the only single individuals on the team.

Based on the gossip in the Slayer tree, Buffy reckoned they might be pretty interesting if she ever got around to visiting.

(Buffy also reckoned that she had too much time on her hands if she was occupying herself with gossip.)

The routine in Scotland was simple. Wake up. Eat. Run. Sit down with Dawn and Xander and go over potential demonic problems in the area, and delegate jobs if necessary. Train with the Slayer-ettes. Eat. Train some more. Sit down with Dawn and Xander and look over the major reports from the previous day (and by _hell,_ Buffy was not built for paperwork or management). Address any pressing issues. Eat. Read. Sleep. Repeat.

It was comforting, to have a routine. To have a home where danger wasn’t constantly knocking on the door. They trained so often that there were no vampires or unfriendly demons within twenty miles of the castle. They had to go farther and farther each time to get the new Slayers the experience they needed before they were dispatched to a squad somewhere. Buffy couldn’t help being inordinately pleased about that.

She knew how the world worked, had found a niche in it all, and finally felt like the scale between good and bad was tipping for the better. She had her sister and her friends. She had her purpose in the world. She felt like she had seen it all. (What could possibly surprise a girl who had died twice and saved the world at least once a year?) The world was _simple_ once you understood what was out there.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. After all, it all changed with a simple rash of beheadings.

* * *

Silence weighed heavily in the humid and freezing darkness. The snow was unpleasant; slushy. The whizzing splashes of passing cars could be heard from a few blocks away. From the same direction, streetlights gleamed in brilliance, reflecting off of the damp bricks lining the alley and the few bare cobblestones peeking out from the dusting of sticky, wet snow. Above, the heavy cloud covering threatened to add moisture to the already miserable snowfall. The lone occupant of the alley, however, seemed indifferent to such trivial matters.

He stood tall, his figure formidable despite its cloth cocoon. He was wrapped in a long black trench coat, along with a dark scarf, and black gloves and boots. Bellow his similarly black hair, his face was contorted with deep ridges between his eyebrows and with a thin-lipped frown. Every so often, he shifted and stamped his feet.

He stood there for nearly a half an hour more before he stiffened and glared at the entrance to the alley, “You’re late.”

Silhouetted by the distant lights, another darkly clad man appeared from around the corner, directly into the glare of the other. His blonde hair glowed in a slight halo around his head from the back-lighting. After running his gloved hand through said hair, he gave a huff of breath that turned the air foggy, “You didn’t exactly stick around after you challenged me, asshole. I could have told you when I’d get off work.”

The other man growled, “Let’s just get this over with.” He shoved a hand into his coat, withdrawing a gleaming length of metal.

The blonde silhouetted man mirrored him, pulling out his own sword, “Aren’t we going to do this properly?”

“What? You mean introduce ourselves?” the dark man snorted and gave a harsh smile, “I know who you are, Cinead.”

Cinead shifted warily, “I cannot say the same for you. What have I done to warrant your challenge, sir?”

“I am no ‘sir’, scot. As for my motivation… Is one truly necessary? After all, this,” he gestured between them with his free hand, “ _is_ the Game.”

Cinead scowled, “A headhunter then.”

“Well…” the man pretended to think about it, “Yes. But, not just. Let’s just say it’s also a family feud.”

“Really,” Cinead said dryly.

The other man smiled, “Yes. Your teacher killed mine.”

“I have nothing to do with Mako anymore; I haven’t for centuries. Besides, he’s dead.”

“Maybe, but not at my hand,” the man twirled his sword in a dangerous arc.

Cinead swirled his sword slightly and shrugged, “So?”

“I’m looking for revenge, with a nice quickening on top.”

“You won’t find closure here, whoever you are.”

The man stepped forward menacingly.

Cinead continued to attempt to calm his opponent, “I know how strict Mako was. I know how unreasonable he could be. That’s why I left him as soon as he had taught me how to survive. I’ve barely spoken to him since. Killing me will achieve nothing.”

The man smiled grimly, “Killing you will achieve everything.”

With that, he lunged forward, his sword flashing. Cinead reacted in a second, moving with fluid grace. The swords collided with a metallic crash. Immediately Cinead slid his weapon off his opponents and came around in an underhanded slash. The other man blocked with ease, and counter attacked around on the other side.  Cinead blocked and disengaged. Carefully, the two swordsmen circled each other warily.

This time, Cinead leapt first, targeting an opening. The strange man managed to block it just in time, and stepped in to nick Cinead’s shoulder. The scot hissed at the cold, grateful the slash did not break the skin. Winter clothes did have some benefits. Cinead managed in return to slide under his opponent’s next swipe and target the man’s stomach. A button went flying and the man snarled at Cinead, pushing him forcefully away to examine the deep slash through his coat.

With a glint in his eye, the man came in once again. And again, Cinead countered perfectly. They seemed to be evenly matched. The cycle continued for many minutes, but they did not slow much, demonstrating incredible endurance. The most either managed to get were small nicks, but by the time they paused long enough to do more than snarl at each other, they were both covered in blood.

They stood a few feet away from each other, swords held at the ready, gasping for freezing, life-giving air that tore at their lungs. Cinead sighed and wiped sweat off his forehead. “You are certain you will not tell me your name?” Cinead inquired.

In reply the man chuckled and attacked with renewed vigor, utilizing several as yet unseen techniques. In a matter of seconds, Cinead was overwhelmed, disarmed, and on his knees. His opponent’s cold hard steel rested at his throat, drawing a thin line of red.

The fight was over. They both knew it. Cinead forced himself to stop shaking. Above him, his opponent chuckled again.

After regaining his composure, Cinead straightened his shoulders, held his head high, and closed his eyes.

The mysterious man smirked down at his fallen opponent, “Cinead of Inverness, student to Mako of Durham, I, Makya of the Hopitu, claim your head.” The cold air whistled past the kneeling man’s ear as Makya raised his sword high. It glinted in the distant streetlights, almost glowing. Makya drew a deep breath, savoring the moment, and proclaimed, “There can be only one!”

With that, the blade fell, slicing through the humid freezing darkness before cutting through flesh and bone. With a dull thud, Cinead was no more. Around him, his life-blood mixed with the unpleasant slush, turning it pink, and the power that had called him home gathered in an ominous mist.

Makya spread his arms wide, his head thrown back to witness the first few flakes of snow. A smile spilt his face and he let out a hysterical laugh. Blue-tinged electricity raced through the air, vaporizing the snow and striking the victor to his knees. This was closely followed by another, and another. Nearby windows shattered; the closest lights blew out in a shower of sparks. Bolt after bolt of raw power arced from the headless corpse to batter the prone man, and yet he continued to laugh.

There can only be one.

* * *

 

“Buffy!” Dawn’s familiar yelled voice greeted the Slayer as she stepped through the veritable castle’s front door, and slammed it behind her. She was overheated and soaked in sweat.

“Morning, Dawn!” Buffy called back, making a beeline for the kitchen and discarding her winter running things as she went. She was down to a tank top and pants in no time, carrying her things under her arm.

Buffy was just about to turn the corner into the Ultimate Heaven of Food (Especially Breakfast), when Dawn burst from within the stone arch, looking frazzled. Her eyes were wide and her hair did not appear to be brushed. Which was a _little_ unusual, but not terribly so.

“Whoa, there!” Buffy chuckled slightly before Xander appeared at Dawn’s shoulder, looking grim, and the humor died a bit, “Dawn? Xander? What’s wrong?”

“Beheadings,” Dawn explained inarticulately, grabbing her older sister’s arm and dragging her towards the small (compared to the dining hall tables) kitchen table. It was completely covered in files, ancient looking books, and news clippings. Both Xander and Dawn had their computers out.

“Ooo-kay…” Buffy looked down at the papers attempting to determine if this was a new problem or an old ‘probably ok’ one. The articles listed about four different murders caused by beheading, and different pieces noted freak lightning storms that seemed to correlate with said beheadings.

Buffy frowned, “I thought Sharra, Aine, and Rose looked into this a few days ago.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed from by her shoulder. “They visited all four crime scenes and were completely baffled by the… damage?” Buffy looked up at him with a frown, but he just shrugged and scratched the skin under his eyepatch, “All the snow was melted where the body was found.”

“Windows blew out,” Dawn added excitedly, “Lights exploded.”

“I thought the cause of death was a sword,” Buffy frowned, picking up one of the articles to re-read.

Dawn nodded vigorously, “It was. But there was _also_ all of this crazy extra stuff too.”

Buffy sighed, “So it’s not a rogue misguided demon hunter or random psycho with a sword after all.”

“Sorry, Buff,” Xander clapped her shoulder.

“I can’t figure out what it _is_ either,” Dawn almost ( _almost_ ) whined, plopping herself in front of her computer.

“And that’s not all, is it Dawnie,” Xander prompted.

Buffy frowned with concern as Dawn looked up at her with big eyes and handed her a folder. The Slayer opened it with trepidation, and sighed as she saw the terrible but not unexpected article within.

“It happened again, last night,” Dawn put the contents into words, “It was a lot closer this time, too.”

“Inverness,” Xander offered.

“Alright,” Buffy sighed, “We can’t do much until we know what we’re dealing with.” All three of them look equally displeased at the idea. “I’m going to go eat. You two do your thing and pull anyone you need for research. I can’t drop training today—I have a few Slayer-ettes ready to graduate and I need to run them through the ropes—but I’ll help you as soon as I can,” Buffy paused and wiped some sweat off her forehead. “Xander, maybe you and I could visit the most recent scene tomorrow?” At his nod, she turned to her sister, “And Dawn, if you don’t have any luck by tonight… you might need to call Giles.”

Dawn nodded in grave agreement, “Yeah. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Xander snorted, “I think we’re just out of practice with the unknown.”

Dawn let out a quick chortle at that, “Good old Scotland. Beautiful, quiet, and butt-ass freezing.”

Buffy chuckled at her sister, “You’re the one who picked it.”

She scowled and flapped her hand at her sister, “Oh, shut up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Makya is a male name, and means Eagle Hunter. It originated from the Native American Hopi Nation; they called themselves Hopitu (The Peaceful People). I think it goes without saying that my OC Makya is not representative of this culture. All I will tell you is that he's not as old as you might think, and is a classic headhunter... just a little bit insane and very bloodthirsty.  
> Also, Cinead has powerful friends. Expect a few visitors.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery deepens... kinda. It would've if I had finished the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... this has been sitting completed for a long time now. It's not really a chapter. It's more like half a chapter. But I decided "screw it!" and to just post it.  
> I'm so sorry for the incredibly long wait. Life is... Let's just say indescribable.

The large dining hall was full of chaos and energy, as usual. People bounced around and missed collisions by the skin of their teeth (and quite possibly by their superhuman reflexes), and the cacophony of conversation was sustained at a dull roar. The towering stone walls were covered in tapestries, but still managed to amplify every conversation, echoing laughter and shouts.

On one long side of the rectangular room, a good portion of the lower wall had been knocked out; this created a buffet-like serving area that looked directly into the kitchen. Both rooms always smelled heavenly. On the other side of the hall, several towering windows lined with dusty fabric curtains looked out on the castle courtyard, which was full of training gear. At night, as it now was, the curtains were drawn shut and the room was lit through other means: rudimentary electrical lighting and supplemental semi-permanent mage-lights, which floated just below the ceiling.

Below, each long cafeteria style table was packed with young Slayers-in-training (fondly known as Slayerettes), aspiring Watchers, and a few supervising adults—Watchers and Slayers alike. The warm room held a total of two tables, which sat 15 to 20 individuals on each side, depending on how determined they were. With the impressive number of 126 trainees and 35 trainers and researchers, dinner was a staggered affair; by the end of each night, every spot on every bench had held at least two butts. Breakfast and lunch tended to be a little longer in total duration and generally less crowded, but the dining room was almost always brimming with energetic teenagers and young adults.

Needless to say, kitchen duty was quite the job.

Tucked away on one end of a table, Xander had gathered a task force. Sharra, Aine, and Rose—the original investigative team—was there, along with a small research team (by the names of Jack, John, and Julie; they were almost inseparable Watchers-in-training, sometimes called the three ‘J’s. Julie was also a Slayer, but decided to stay and focus on research after she graduated). In addition to those six were four heavy-hitters. That meant Buffy, Xander, Dawn, and Leah—one of the few trusted Slayer-grads who were not yet assigned to a squad or between squad assignments. Leah herself was back from a stint in Prague and was happily aiding in the torture—er… _training_ — of the numerous Slayerettes.

Buffy looked sweaty and exhausted. Somehow there was still snow in her hair, slowly melting, but she didn’t seem to notice; she was fixated on the conversation. Leah, learning about all of this for the first time, had forgone her meal a while ago and looked vaguely disturbed—her green face contrasting nicely with her red hair. Beside her, Rose was almost bouncing in her seat—she must have passed Buffy’s muster and graduated—and her short black hair kept whipping back and forth as she tried to look at everyone. Sharra and Aine were decidedly less energetic, but neither of them had just taken an exam (Sharra was already a Slayer and Aine was not quite ready). Meanwhile, the three Watcher trainees had red eyes and kept trying to stretch their sore necks. Xander knew that Dawn looked better only by virtue of experience.

Dawn was briefing the Slayers on what the research team had discovered so far. It wasn’t very promising. They still had no answers and had even more questions.

“It spans _centuries_ , Buffy,” Dawn complained, “Mysterious beheadings accompanied by freak lightning storms have been documented almost world-wide for as long we can see! How do we _not_ know about this?!”

“It used to be like this with everything we faced, Dawnie,” Xander attempted to placate the young Watcher. It didn’t work.

“Yes, but not on _this_ scale!” Dawn huffed at him, crossing her arms. Xander pulled up an old note he had made to himself: _Dawn + stress + frustration = do not try to calm directly_. Right.

Buffy held up both hands in a placatory gesture, “Easy there. We’ll take this one step at a time. Dawn, have you talked to Giles?”

She nodded sullenly, “Yeah. He’s on his way.”

“Good. Leah,” Buffy turned to the redhead, “Would you mind running the castle tomorrow?”

The Slayer gave a fiery grin, bringing some color back into her face, “It would be my pleasure.”

Buffy grinned back, “Awesome.”

Xander turned to the other six, “While Buffy and I check this out in person, you all get to help Dawn and Giles. Capiche?”

The three Slayers and three researchers agreed with various levels of enthusiasm.

“Leah—” Xander started.

“Don’t worry,” she interrupted, “I’ll talk with Rowena, Satsu, and Aaron. We’ll handle classes.”

Everyone nodded. Nothing else seemed necessary, so conversation ceased. For a while, only the white noise of dinner filled the space between them.

After a moment, Buffy huffed a sigh and ran a hand through her hair, looking mildly surprised when it came away wet. “Anyway,” she visibly shook herself, “Everyone, get a good night’s rest. You’re gonna need it.”

* * *

Dawn was glued to her chair. Her eyes were red and watery and her hair was matted into a suspiciously flat lump on one side of her head. The kitchen table was coated with books, paper files, scribbled notes, and graphic pictures, some of which had cascaded onto the floor around her chair. Her computer, seated in the center of the war zone, glared up at her with its bright unblinking screen. A cup of frigid coffee, left by Julie (the last Slayerette to check on her), rested beside her left wrist. She had no idea what time it was, and didn’t really care.

She was distinctly peeved. There should be more. _Somewhere_ there should be more. She had searched through every applicable book in the castle library, every database she had access to (many of which she _shouldn’t_ have access to), and had even resorted to conspiracy theorist websites. But all any of them gave her was ‘hey—these freak lightning storms are strange, aren’t they?’ No one seemed to know what caused them or why, and most didn’t even try to guess. And those that _did_ guess just got confused because sometimes there was a headless body at the site of the storm and sometimes there wasn’t.

Essentially, she had nothing.

_How?_

She probably should have gone to bed by now, she noted idly, staring at the papers that had somehow appeared beneath her nose. Giles will know. _Giles always knows. I just have to wait until he gets here._

Dawn rolled her head to the side and closed her eyes. What was it that Buffy said earlier? Something about getting sleep. About needing to be well rested.

Dawn sighed and gave in to her illogical sleep-induced thoughts, _I hope she’s not going to make me run with her again…_

* * *

Solid black leather boots pounded rhythmically against damp cobblestones, the sound echoing around the narrow alley. The sturdy man attached to the boots flailed slightly as one of his feet slipped on an unseen patch of ice, before he turned the sharp change of momentum to his advantage, ducking into another alley. There! The cars were getting louder. If he could just…

Distantly, another pair of boots echoed his rhythm as his pursuer ducked into the alley behind him. Spurred on by desperation, the man put on another burst of speed and flew out into the busy main street. Instantly composing himself, he turned down the side walk and entered the nearest store. Behind him he heard his pursuer growl in frustration.

Temporarily safe, he gave a sigh of relief. This solitude wouldn’t last forever; his pursuer may not challenge him here, but he simply couldn’t loiter in a small… office supply shop? The walls were covered in packets of post-it notes and pens! This wasn’t a café; he’d be kicked out far too soon.

He needed to get away. He needed to leave town. He needed to get somewhere safe. He needed…

He needed help.

Smiling absently at the store clerk, he pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number. He breathed another sigh of relief as they picked up on the first ring. “Hey, it’s Greg. Listen… I need your help.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles makes his appearance, complete with explanations, and we meet three immortals in a rather convenient fashion.  
> Makya closes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, as recompense for a very short second chapter, take a really LONG third chapter! I hope the disconnected scenes start to make more sense.  
> For those of you confused about the Game, I recommend reading Immortal of Letters... I explain it there. I wasn't up for repeating the same scene again in a different setting, so I apologize. Basically all immortals have a life-force, or Quickening, that is released upon their final death (via beheading) and absorbed by the victor. The Game is basically murder with rules. I'll get into it some more in the next chapter.

The harsh music of a phone ringing cut through the dark musty silence of a small apartment. Somewhere from underneath an impressive pile of blankets, a woman groaned. The cellphone did not stop. A moment later, a head of short brown hair emerged into the dim lighting cast by the street lights.

The woman groped for the phone and squinted at the screen before flipping it open, mercifully silencing the contraption. She flopped onto her back. “I hope you have a good reason for this, Duncan,” she grumbled, “I was having a splendid dream about the Hope Diamond.”

“Amanda,” the man on the other end sounded worried, “We have a problem.”

“What?” the woman sat up, suddenly alert, “What’s wrong?”

“I received news a few days ago—Gabriela, my student from back in the 1890s… she’s dead. Then, yesterday, Connor called me. Cinead is dead too.”

“Oh no! That’s awful, Mac. Do you know who killed them?” While she listened to her call, she turned to look at the clock. _11:23_ it read. Amanda sighed internally; she had _just_ gotten to sleep. Couldn’t this news have waited?

“No, but I got a call from Methos just now… He’s got a friend headed to Scotland—that’s where they both were when they were killed—because some of _his_ friends caught wind of a series of beheadings. They don’t know about immortals.”

“Oh,” Amanda breathed, the seriousness of the situation beginning to dawn on her. “He’s going to have to tell them, right?”

On the other end of the line, probably in Seacouver, Duncan murmured an affirmative, “Yeah. From what Methos said, he won’t have any choice.”

Amanda closed her eyes, a terrible thought occurring to her, “And, let me guess, these friends of Methos’ friend… they’re hunters. Aren’t they?”

Duncan sighed, “Actually, Methos said something about vampire Slayers and Watchers.”

“Watchers?” Amanda frowned, “Who don’t…”

“Not our Watchers,” the other immortal hurried to clarify, “They, from what I understood, watch Slayers.”

“Huh.” After allowing herself a moment of confusion, Amanda shook her head and focused on the problem at hand, “Why’d you call _me_ , Mac? I’m in Spain right now…”

“Isn’t Michelle living in Perth?” the younger immortal ventured hesitantly. Amanda blinked, a pure bolt fear running through her at the mention of her student.

“ _Shit_ ,” the thief swore fiercely, already starting roll out of bed and get dressed. “Did Methos happen to mention who this friend of his is? If I’m going to stop the headhunter _and_ this ‘Slayer’ crisis, I’d rather not do it blind.”

“Yeah,” he sounded relieved, “His name is Rupert Giles. I’ll text you his number.”

Amanda reached under her bed one-handed, fishing out a sword and a small duffle bag, “Thanks, MacLeod.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledged, “Good luck, Amanda. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.” A second later, he hung up.

Amanda paused and looked at her phone with a frown. “Well, that’s encouraging,” she muttered.

A few minutes later found the millennia old immortal seated in front of her computer, booking a flight to Scotland with one hand and holding her phone to her ear with her other.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered, “Pick up!”

As though the universe had heard her, the ringing abruptly cut off and was promptly replaced by a relieved voice. “Amanda!” the woman sounded drawn out, “Thank god! I thought you were still in the Alps…”

“Michelle!” Amanda called, “Are you ok?”

“There’s a headhunter! He chased us all day,” the young immortal sounded close to tears, “And he’s been outside all evening!”

“Us?” Amanda asked, finalizing her flight and shutting her computer, “Are you with someone?”

“I’m with Greg—Gregor Powers. He was cornered in a shop—I had to distract the hunter so he could get away.” Michelle was starting to sound calmer.

“Michelle!” Amanda scolded as she locked her valuables away, “You could’ve—”

“I know,” she cut off her teacher, “But I had to help Greg! This guy’s good, Amanda, he’s killed, like, five immortals. I mean, he killed _Cinead_! Greg knew he wouldn’t be able to take him.”

“Ok, ok,” she reassured the girl, “Listen, I’ve already booked a flight and am on my way.”

Michelle sounded shocked, “What?”

“Mac called me,” she explained, “Apparently this is bigger than just a headhunter now. I’ll explain when I get there.” She picked up her duffle, “Where are you?”

“We’re in Perth. At my apartment.”

Amanda had locked her door and was halfway down the hall before Michelle had finished her response. She nodded to herself, a plan already forming, “Alright. Do you know where Cinead was killed?”

“Amanda…” the young immortal was obviously confused.

“Come on, Michelle,” Amanda sighed, “I have a point.”

“Um,” Michelle turned and asked a brief question off the line before turning back and answering, “He was in Inverness. Why?”

“Ok, you can’t let him pin you down. _Don’t_ let him even _vocalize_ a challenge against either of you,” Amanda’s feet pounded down the stairs and she emerged onto the busy street, eyes searching for a taxi, even as she coached her student, “There are two of you, so you can take turns getting sleep, but you need to move soon; he’ll probably come for you early in the morning. So… this is what you need to do…”

* * *

Giles wasn’t sure how he should feel about this newest development. He had received a call from a desperate and frustrated Dawn the previous day and, shocked by the sparse details she had given him, had called a friend before promptly grabbing the first flight he could to Scotland. He had landed at six in the morning in Glasgow, and grabbed a train headed for the highlands.

Now, standing before the impressive castle the Slayers called home, which was nearly glowing in the early morning light, the Watcher felt… nervous. How, exactly, was he going to explain what he knew? None of them would take kindly to his secret. They wouldn’t understand _why_ he hadn’t told them.

Quite honestly, he wasn’t sure himself.

They could handle it; it was practically _tame_ compared to what Slayers dealt with on a day-to-day basis. _And_ it would, without a doubt, answer all the questions about how he kept miraculously producing capable pre-trained Watchers (albeit without knowledge of the supernatural) wherever he went. And said Watchers would likely be relieved to let _their_ secret out. But Giles, like all the others, were struggling against a deep-seated instinct drilled into them through years of service to their organization: _never share the existence of immortals._ Even once they left the strict, paranoid, and aloof organization behind, they still struggled against that fundamental rule.

There was a _reason_ for it too. Giles shook his head. He could picture _perfectly_ how his old pupils would react to the news of horrible, bloody, fights to the death. They’d want to start policing the age-old society.

It was a terrifying thought.

Before he could think about it for much longer, the sturdy oak doors set into weathered stone flew open and a young black-haired blur came rushing towards him.

“Mr. Giles!” she exclaimed, skidding to a halt in front of him, “I’m so glad you’re here already!”

“Hello, Rose,” the Watcher was just barely able to squeeze in the greeting before the young Slayer rushed on.

“Dawn just woke up—she’s in the kitchen. Buffy and Xander left for Inverness this morning, and are probably almost there by now. Everyone else— and by that I mean me, Sharra, Aine, Julie, Jack, and John—are set up in the library. I mean, Dawn and all her research is still in the kitchen—she was there all night—but we just figured it’d be better to have more space…” As she spoke, Rose dragged Giles inside and through the labyrinth of stone hallways towards the library.

The next few minutes were a blur. After Giles greeted the investigative team Xander had cobbled together, they dumped all of their information on him. He could barely get a word in edge wise. It was only when a zombie-like Dawn dragged herself into the little meeting that the group quieted down.

“Giles,” the young over-worked Watcher beamed, “I’m so glad you’re here!”

He smiled warmly at the youngest Summers and pulled her into a hug, “It’s good to see you, Dawn.”

“It’s good to see you too!” she huffed a sigh of relief, “I hope _you_ can figure this out, because we have no clue.” Around them, the team nodded emphatically.

Giles surveyed their hopeful looks with a growing sense of dread. “Yes, I have a fairly good idea of what you’re researching.” He met Dawn’s surprised eyes, “But it is not like anything you’ve considered. This is, quite honestly, beyond us.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, a note of confusion echoing through her tone.

“The victims are as human as their killer.” Everyone gasped as one and began demanding answers. The library was, thankfully, large and covered in books, so they were spared from any echoes adding to the cacophony.

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes…..This was going to be a very long day.

* * *

The alley was in ruins. There was no other way to describe it. Buffy turned in a slow circle and took in the damage with a fair bit of awe. The bricks were lightly scorched, and several trashcans had been knocked over, spilling refuse across visible cobblestones. The surrounding area was coated in snow and ice and slush, but this area—with a surprisingly small blood stain at the center—was almost completely bare, with just a light dusting of snow littered with footprints and imprints from various investigative tools. It was almost like the slush had been _vaporized_ at the time of death.

A little farther down the alley, Xander let out a whistle. “Check this out, Buff,” he called, “The lights have _exploded_.”

“Just like the others described,” Buffy agreed. “This is _insane_.”

“I know, right?” the one-eyed man shook his head, “What on _earth_ could’ve caused this? And _why_?”

“You see any clues?” she surveyed the damage one last time.

“Nope,” he huffed before starting back towards the main street. A police siren sounded in the distance and they both froze. Xander glanced at his friend, “We should probably scram _faster_.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. They hurried to the street and the Watcher glanced cautiously around the corner. He indicated that the coast was clear and they both slipped under the crime scene tape and out into society once more.

After a minute of walking in silence, Xander pointed to a small café, “How about brunch? We can call the team after we eat.”

Buffy smiled, “Sounds good. Hopefully Giles will be there by then.”

Satisfied to put the damaged alley and unending questions out of their minds for the moment, they dashed across the street, narrowly missing a car. Buffy laughed at Xander’s affronted look and dragged him towards the food.

_Food first; mystery later._

* * *

A long hour of explanations, curious researchers, and a furious Dawn later, Giles finally managed to take a breath. Upon discovering he had not eaten breakfast yet, the group swept him off to the kitchen for an early lunch. They’d had then had a few peaceful minutes of relative silence. Everyone who had already eaten gathered together a few snacks, and Jack—a self-proclaimed chef in addition to being a researcher—presented the already exhausted Giles with a full English breakfast.

Dawn, however, forwent the snacks and sat herself across from Giles to continue her unimpressed staring. After he was about halfway through the meal, she sighed, “We need to call Buffy and Xander. If these immortals are really so strict about how they… _murder_ each other, we should get them out of the crossfire.”

The Watcher sighed, “Dawn…. Most immortals despise the Game. They simply want to live their lives and keep the precious few friends that won’t die on them after a few years close. There’s an entire _culture_ out there of teachers and students… they consider each other family.”

“But they still kill each other,” Dawn pointed out dryly.

“Think about it, Dawn,” Giles urged, “They live for centuries, watching us mortals die around them… that can drive a person insane. Some immortals treat normal humans like trash, some go on murdering sprees, other hunger for power _so much_ that they, yes, go looking for Quickenings. But, Dawn, they aren’t all like that.”

“You mentioned a friend, right?” Julie moved to take the seat beside Giles, a bag of crisps in hand, “An immortal friend you called to confirm that the murders were what you thought.”

“Yes,” Giles smiled at the young researcher, “I’ve known him since I was a child.”

For some reason, that revelation attracted the other members, scattered around the room as they were, to his side, where they each took seats around the kitchen table. Outside, in the dining hall, the quite murmur of voices indicated the first movement towards lunch.

Jack, who had just pulled off his greasy apron, settled in beside Dawn, “Really? Did you know about immortals back then?”

“No, not explicitly,” he rubbed his chin in thought, “Not right away. You see, my family was a family of Watchers, dedicated to the Slayers, but they were also members of the Unified Watcher Council and occasionally Watched immortals. It is… quite forbidden for Watchers to have contact with immortals. Ben was a family secret.”

“Why?” Sharra tilted her head curiously.

“Immortal Watchers are chroniclers. They aim to record the lives of immortals so they are not forgotten through their chameleon-like behavior, as they change to fit in with new cultures. Additionally, immortals are understandably quite paranoid, and have been known to react unfavorably once discovering Watchers.”

“Like killing them,” Dawn guessed, scowl still firmly in place.

“Sometimes, yes,” Giles allowed, “Immortals have been known to use mortals as hitmen to make hunting easier, and paranoid immortals react pre-emptively. Although… the more common, and seldom recorded, result is a corruption of the chronicle.”

The group made an impressive collection of confused faces, so Giles clarified, “When the Watcher and their charge become friends, they frequently learn information or observe events they then fail to record.”

“Oooo,” Rose breathed excitedly, “And because of that, you have no real way to tell how many immortals know about Watchers.”

He smiled at the Slayer, “Yes, quite so.”

“So Watchers try to stay distant out of fear and academic integrity?” Aine leaned back in her chair, and it creaked ominously.

“It is also a preventative measure against Hunters,” Giles ventured, “You see, it is not just immortals who are in danger of being driven mad. According to Ben, and various half-destroyed records I have managed to find, every couple centuries there’s a movement in the Watchers—a group of radicals determined to hunt down and kill every immortal in some misguided effort to prevent the atrocities a few horrible individuals commit.”

“And a war breaks out,” John broke his typical silence to murmur.

Giles nodded, “Indeed.” He glanced at Dawn, whose scowl had melted into a thoughtful frown.

“Are those immortals ever caught? I mean, if the Watchers do nothing…”Julie set her bag of crisps aside.

“Yes; immortals police their own,” he assured her, “Since no prison can hold an immortal—as soon as they’re dead, they’re free—the few immortals who have a love of life but are not completely out of the Game will hunt the perpetrators, whether they are murderers, headhunters, or rule breakers. For many of those immortals, the only solution is the Game; to stop the killer for good.”

He paused and surveyed the varied expressions of thought, horror, disgust, and curiosity scattered around the table. He shook his head and sighed, “It is a very morally grey area, and although I am opposed on a fundamental level to unnecessary killing, I am also of the opinion that we are simply unqualified to challenge the fundamental structure of an ancient culture full of ancient individuals.”

It was a relief when everyone nodded their understanding and acquiescence.

“So,” Dawn started, “What do we do now? Should we wait for Buffy and Xander to contact us, or—”

The universe apparently took that as a sign, as Giles phone chose that moment to ring. He pulled it out and frowned at the unfamiliar number before excusing himself and moving a few feet away. “Hello?” he answered hesitantly.

“Is this Rupert Giles?” a no-nonsense voice asked briskly.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My name’s Amanda. I’m a friend of the Old Man’s.”

Giles could hear the capital letters a mile away and instantly knew who the strange woman meant. “Did he give you my number?” Her name was also _very_ familiar… if he could just place it….

“No; a mutual friend did. Mac likely would have been happy to deal with this little mess himself, noble-hearted trouble magnet he is— especially since, uh, _Adam_ asked— but I’m closer and, anyway, _my_ student is currently being hunted,” the immortal sounded furious at that.

“Ah,” Giles responded a little nervously, “I see.”

“I’m nearly to Inverness to take care of it right now, but I need to know about the situation with your… vampire slayers and… watchers?” the woman sounded a little confused at that, “and what I need to do to calm the situation down.”

“We’re not your type of Watchers,” Giles explained briefly, feeling the urge to get it out of the way, “But we were, originally, affiliated with them. But, the situation is under control, as far as I can tell. However there are a Slayer and Watcher currently in Inverness who I haven’t had contact with yet.”

“Wonderful,” the woman, Amanda, sighed sarcastically. And, thanks to that tone, Giles suddenly knew exactly who he was talking to.

Giles cleared his throat, “Is your student being hunted in Inverness?”

“Yes; last I heard she was almost there. I’m hoping leading him back there will confuse him.”

“I… really hope that works.”

She sighed, “Thank you, I suppose.

“You… you’re Rebecca’s Amanda, right?” Giles decided to confirm his assumptions.

“Yes…” she sounded a little wary now, “How did you…?”

“I used to want to Watch immortals, but I kept getting shipped off to the supernatural division due to my familial history. You could call it a hobby.”

“I see,” her voice had a large smile in it. In fact, it sounded like she had figured out a great deal more than what Giles had shared. Giles felt vaguely concerned about that, especially considering what he knew about Amanda. A moment later, however, she was back on topic, “Look, can you contact your people? Tell them to stay back and save their questions for later?”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” he assured her.

“Good,” she was brisk once again, “I will no doubt talk to you again, Rupert.”

He was so surprised to be addressed by his first name he barely got out, “Good luck, Amanda,” before she hung up.

After a moment looking at his phone in mild shock, the Watcher turned back to the team of Slayers and Watchers. They were deathly silent, eyes glued to him. No doubt they had heard his side of the conversation, and the Slayers may have even heard some of what Amanda had said.

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes again, “Dawn, we need to call your sister _now._ ”

* * *

As Xander bent double, panting for breath and cursing himself for not going on more runs with Buffy, he was left wondering why they had thought they could ever ignore a mystery to sit down and have a normal meal. They were in _no way_ that lucky.

It started about an hour previously, right around ten thirty. You see, he and Buffy had barely sat down with a small snack of muffins and coffee before trouble literally ran right past their noses.

A man and woman, who both looked haggard and exhausted, hurried past the café, glancing around nervously. Buffy met Xander’s eyes and they agreed silently that there was no way this was a coincidence. As Buffy hurried to her feet, Xander dug through his wallet and left enough money on the table to cover the food and tip. When Xander had finally gotten his feet under himself again, Buffy was already gaining on the two nervous individuals.

Xander groaned and hurried to catch up.

A little while later, Buffy had managed to flag the pair down and pull them into a side alley, and Xander had managed to catch up. The strangers looked uneasy and suspicious at being stopped.

“Are you in trouble?” Buffy asked bluntly, cutting to the chase, “Is someone after you?”

The man narrowed his eyes, “What is it to you?”

“What?” Xander asked over Buffy’s shoulder, acting overly offended, “Good Samaritans can’t be concerned about your wellbeing?”

“You _can_ , but I highly doubt you _are_ ,” the woman snarked right back at him, eying his eye patch, “The world doesn’t work that way.

“Ok,” Buffy put her hands up in surrender, “You’ve got us.”

Xander nodded his agreement, “Yes. We are obviously a pair of dangerous psychopaths looking for victims and _not_ investigating the mysterious beheading that happened two streets over.”

Instead of putting the two at ease, they looked even less comfortable. The man glanced at the woman, and she frowned deeply and shrugged. He turned back to them, “You aren’t Watchers, are you?”

The ex-Scoobies blinked in surprise. Buffy visibly picked her metaphorical jaw off the ground and motioned between herself and Xander, “Um, I’m a Slayer but he’s a Watcher.”

“Slayer?” the woman piped up, utter confusion written across her face.

“Here, how about this,” Xander stepped forward, and extended his hand, “I’m Xander Harris, and this is the Slayer, Buffy Summers.” Buffy took his cue and stepped forward as well.

The pair shook their hands absently. The woman was the one who took it upon herself to introduce them, “Uh, I’m Michelle. Michelle Winslow. This is my good friend, Dr. Gregory Cook.”

“Pleasure to meet you!” Buffy beamed at her as she shook her hand.

Dr. Cook gave her an incredulous look, “I wish I could say the same, but honestly I’ve still got no idea why you’re here or what you want with us.”

“We _really_ _do_ just want to help,” Xander assured him.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting into,” the doctor frowned at the handy man, “This is beyond you.”

Buffy frowned right back at him, “I’ll happily admit I’ve got no clue who’s been beheading Scottish citizens, or why, but we have more experience with the unknown than you can possibly imagine.”

Dr. Cook looked completely ticked, but Michelle put a hand on his arm, stopping him before he could get started with a quiet, “Greg.” She then turned back to Buffy. “The unknown?” she asked quietly, “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you know,” Xander jumped in, “bizarre accidents, unusual deaths, freak disasters….”

Cook made a face at that. He actually looked quite constipated. “Are you seriously claiming to be _ghost hunters_ or some nonsense?”

Xander and Buffy exchanged a look at that. “No,” Buffy ventured, “Can’t say I know much about ghosts. We specialize more in the area of vampires and various other demons.”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Cook shook his head emphatically.

Michelle, however, looked thoughtful, “But, Greg, don’t you remember that thing with MacLeod back in ’97?”

He turned and blinked at her, “I thought that was gossip.”

“No,” she insisted, “I was with Amanda when Mac came and explained everything to her.”

“And that makes them not crazy?” he gestured towards the others.

“We’re still here and not deaf, you know,” Xander pointed out. Buffy promptly elbowed him in the side. He glared at her, “Hey….”

Michelle looked at them consideringly and seemed to be about to say something, but suddenly she and Dr. Cook stiffened at the exact same moment and looked past the pair, towards the street.

“We’ve got to go,” the doctor murmured distractedly, already turning as though ready to run.

Michelle glanced severely at Buffy and Xander, “If you want answers, come with us now.” Then, as one, the two turned and dashed down the alley.

Xander stared after them, completely baffled. Beside him, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Buffy do the exact same. After a moment she shrugged, “Well, I guess that’s our cue, Xan.”

In a flash, the Slayer was after the two strangers. Xander hesitated but shrugged, “What the hell,” he muttered, “yolo,” and took off after them.

About thirty minutes later he was seriously regretting that decision. The group had finally slowed to a stop and was resting on the roof of the tallest apartment in the area. Michelle and Buffy had collapsed next to each other and were chuckling breathlessly about something. Greg (and Xander was not certain when he had started calling the doctor ‘Greg’ in his head) was smiling fondly at his friend as he stood a few paces away, one hand buried in his long coat, checking for something. Xander, however, was nearly doubled over and was cursing himself for slacking off on training.

Michelle finally got control of herself and smiled up at Greg, “We can do this. Amanda must be almost here by now.”

Greg’s own smile faded a bit at that. “I hope so, Michelle. I will certainly do my best if she doesn’t get here in time, but I do not trust myself against Makya.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, “I still don’t understand why he wants your head.”

He sighed, “I didn’t save his sister. That’s why.”

Buffy clear her throat politely, “So you _are_ being chased. By someone who wants you dead, at that.”

Greg redirected his sad gaze to the Slayer, “Yes. I suppose so.”

“Is Michelle in danger too?” Xander asked in concern, moving closer to the group while still gasping for breath. He was already a little attached to the pair.

Michelle met Xander’s eyes and answered for herself, “Yes.”

“Well, shit.” The Watcher rubbed his forehead, “I don’t suppose we can do anything to help?”

“I highly doubt that, Xander,” Greg told him with regret, surprising the young man by using his name for the first time.

Conversation rapidly lulled after that. They sat in a small circle, listening intently to the sounds of the town… straining for any sign of their pursuer. That easy silence was broken after a few minutes by a ringing cellphone.

Everyone jumped and Buffy rapidly dug into her pocket for it, giving the group a sheepish smile. She checked the screen and glanced at Xander, informing him, “It’s Dawn,” before answering, “Hey.”

“Oh, we’re fine,” she assured her sister after a moment. “We think we found the next two intended victims though; we’re with them now. Had an exciting run together too,” she gave Michelle a sharp cheerful grin. The other woman returned it. Xander was mildly concerned about that friendship….

A second later, however, Buffy’s smile disappeared, “What did you say? Amanda?” Michelle frowned at the Slayer, and Xander couldn’t help doing the same. Michelle and Greg had just mentioned that name.

“Giles said _what_?” Buffy shook her head in amazement and looked towards their new companions with no little amount of wonder, “ _Immortals_?”

Xander observed in fascination as the two refugees’ expressions morphed from confusion and concern to complete and utter shock.

 _Huh_ , Xander thought, _This should be an interesting story._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets come out and Makya meets his match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter was so long, I'm splitting it into two. It just kept growing... It's all done, though, so I'm posting both together.  
> Just a reminder-- Makya is crazy. I looked up some stuff on Hopi religion and culture and names and stuff... but HE IS NOT ACCURATE. Makya is a very bad cookie. Ok?  
> Ok.

Michelle had never really liked surprises. Even as a pre-immortal she had been prickly about anything she didn’t expect or agree with. She had, on many occasions, been described as feisty and hot-headed.. So, needless to say, she was not happy about having to explain immortality to two strange _mortals_ she had met _maybe_ an hour prior.

Not that she showed it. She had, after all, matured considerably since her first death. And, well, if she had to be honest… she really liked Buffy. She couldn’t precisely say _why_ , but she felt a kindred spirit with the strange girl. Ghosts and demons or no. Which was still utterly ridiculous. Despite what she told Greg, she wasn’t entirely certain they were talking about the same thing as Mac had… But the world was bigger than she had expected once, and she was not letting herself be caught off guard a second time.

The group of four was still seated on the roof of the tallest apartment they could find. The weather had turned sour, clouds rolling across the sky to obscure the sun and foreshadow more moisture. Since it was Scotland, it was, of course, debatable whether said moister would come as rain, snow, or slush.

The mood between the four had also turned slightly sour. Both mortals seemed to be taking the news that Immortals existed very well, but they were struggling with the fighting to the permanent death and no interfering things. Michelle got the impression that if their friend—the Giles fellow—hadn’t expressly told them to do what they were told and to save their objections for later, they would be protesting and expressing (more) extreme levels of disgust at the top of their lungs.

Xander held up a hand, halting Greg’s explanation, brows furrowed deeply, “So you’re telling us that you are literal lightning storms bottled up into human bodies and there’s someone who is trying to chop of your head to claim said power _and_ that due to a long history this death match has an impressive list of rules and once the challenge is issued no one can interfere.”

Greg blinked at the eye-patched man, “Yes.”

“And this _guy_ ,” Buffy leaned forward, “Has a grudge against you because you failed to save his mortal sister from cholera.”

“Yes,” Greg repeated.

“And this same guy has at least five other grudges all located in the United Kingdom and has been hunting them down?” Xander questioned.

“Probably not,” Michelle chose to jump in before her friend, “It’s likely that he just wants the power and has been finding excuses to justify killing any immortal he comes across—which is why I’m in danger too.”

From beside her, Buffy let out a drawn out groan and dropped her head into her hands. “I’m getting a headache,” she complained, “I thought we were _done_ with world changing discoveries after the First.”

Xander reached out and patted her on the back. “Oh, Buff,” he said in an overly dramatic manner, “That’s where you went wrong. I’ve started expecting the unexpected—ever since Glory, maybe even before that.”

“Why Glory?” Buffy turned to her friend in curiosity.

Xander shrugged, “More so… you dying and Willow bringing you back and the dancing demon and then Tara and Dark Willow. That’s when I just gave up.”

Despite understanding basically _none_ of that, Michelle found that one part of that cliff-notes explanation stood out as _incredibly_ strange.

“You died?” Greg asked incredulously, voicing Michelle’s own question.

Buffy nodded hesitantly, “Not like you guys, though. It’s… a long story.”

“We’ve got time—there’s little we can do until Makya or Amanda shows up,” Michelle pointed out, burning with curiosity.

Buffy glanced at Xander who took his cue to start the story. “It started with a demon called Glory. Now she was a piece of work…”

* * *

Makya growled in frustration as he stalked the streets of Inverness. He had been so close! He had _seen_ the weasel of a doctor as he disappeared around a corner with his little friend and two rather confused looking mortals. But then he was stopped by an infuriating tourist who thought he was a local. It had taken all of his self-control not to stab the insolent mortal right there and then.

He had been _so_ close.

Somehow that short lead time had been all they needed. Makya had expected them to be slowed down by the mortals, but somehow they seemed to disappear even _faster_. He had spent three hours sweeping the slushy streets of Inverness. _Three hours_ , and he had found _no_ sign of them—not even the faintest buzz.

Why had they even returned here in the first place? Did they not realize he had just won a challenge in this very town? Or was it some convoluted plot to get him arrested by mortal authorities? If so, they were being highly inefficient….

Finally reaching his breaking point, Makya slowed to a stop just inside a residential alley and glared at the light brown bricks on the side of the small apartment complex he was behind.

He was Hopitu! He was a tracker by birth! This should not be happening.

This _could not_ be happening. Gregor Powers had to pay for what he had done, just like all the others Makya had come across in the past few years.

They had to _pay_.

Masauwu, Master of the Fourth World, would want such wickedness punished; Makya was certain.

As though the Skeleton Man himself had heard Makya’s thoughts, a sudden buzz raced down his spine and Makya whipped around to face the direction it was coming from. A slow smile spread across his face; the hunt was on once more.

As he resumed a steady trot, Makya sent a mental thanks to the Door Keeper. He would not be disappointed.

* * *

Michelle stared dumbly as Buffy finished her incredible (impossible) story… “So, basically Willow used her witchy stuff and brought me back to life.”

“It did generate that monster, though,” Xander pointed out helpfully.

Buffy’s answer was a full body shudder.

Still quietly in denial, Michelle simply shook her head at the pair. Glancing to her side, she found Greg in a similar state: brow furled and frown deep.

A moment of awkward silence followed, in which Michelle wracked her mind for something she could ask. Or say or do… But she was exhausted. She just wanted this to be _over_ so she could go home.

She had been thinking that very thing ever since she talked to Amanda in Perth, but for some reason it finally— _finally­—_ was answered by a familiar tingle just behind her eyes. The sensation sent a bolt of terror through her, just as it had the last few times, but there was something slightly different to it....

Beside her, Greg stiffened and glanced at her. “Is it Makya?” he murmured quietly.

“Amanda did text that she was almost here,” Michelle ventured optimistically.

Her hopes were proven correct and wrong when, in the next moment, the tingle intensified in a way in only did when another immortal entered her range.

Greg let out a sigh of relief, indicating that he had felt it too. “It’s both,” he said for the benefit of the two confused and concerned mortals still seated before them.

Michelle took a deep breath and stood, “We should head down and meet them.” Buffy and Xander were rattling with nerves and practically jumped to their feet. Greg was much more hesitant, heaving a huge sigh, but stood as well. Together the four of them made their way to the fire escape on the side of the building and slowly down into an alley.

Once they reached the slushy ground, they formed a loose circle and stared at each other in nervousness. With each passing second the tension seemed to grow; the buzz got stronger and stronger, making the hairs on the back of Michelle’s neck stand on end and causing Greg to begin shifting in agitation, while the mortals picked up on their distress and began glancing around warily.

To Michelle’s dismay, one of the immortals was getting closer faster than the other.

Greg gave her a terrified look, obviously sensing the same thing.

Michelle met his gaze and voiced their mutual fear, “What if that one isn’t Amanda?”

“Then,” he ventured, obviously struggling to keep his cool, “We run towards the other one.”

Michelle forced herself to inhale through her nose and center herself before nodding vigorously. It was the best option. If it was Makya, they just had to make sure he couldn’t voice a challenge. As the buzzes got closer and closer, Michelle forced herself to breathe and think, to carefully run through every scenario she could think of as objectively as she could, just as Amanda had taught her.

When the buzz was literally around the corner, however, Michelle’s thought processes halted.

At that moment, Xander asked nervously, “Is one of them almost here?”

Instead of answering, both Michelle and Greg looked past him to the mouth of the alley, causing both of the mortals to turn and look for themselves. A lean figure dressed in black skidded into view, and Michelle let out a huge sigh of relief. Makya was no doubt dressed in back as well… however, there was _no way_ his short cropped hair was a vibrant platinum that shone in the cloudy Scottish sunlight.

“Michelle!” Amanda a cried out a beat after her student’s sigh of relief, “Greg! Oh, thank goodness you two are alright!” She swiftly reached the group and gave the two mortals a brief smile. “Hello,” she greeted, “You wouldn’t happen to be a… Watcher and Slayer belonging to a Rupert Giles?” There was a very noticeable note of confusion in her voice as she spoke the titles.

They both nodded, but it was Buffy who answered vocally, “That would be us.”

“Splendid,” Amanda sighed, sounding both relieved and annoyed, “I hope he briefed you on _not_ interfering and saving your questions?”

“Yes,” Xander agreed, although it was his turn to sound rather annoyed. Buffy scrunched up her face in agreement.

Michelle couldn’t help smiling at the pair. They were quite fascinating.

“Good. Be sure that you do that,” Amanda told them sternly. A second later, she redirected her fearsome attention to the two immortals. “And you two!” she exclaimed severely, “Ensure that you stay well back with your new friends. I don’t want any funny business with the quickening.” Michelle was reminded quite vividly of the first few weeks of her training as she and Greg meekly nodded their agreement.

Amanda gave them all a strained smile, and gave Michelle a comforting grip on her shoulder, before glancing past them to the other end of the alley where Makya was rapidly approaching. After a tense moment she took a deep breath and glanced at the second oldest immortal present. “Greg—” she started.

“I know,” he interrupted, “In the unlikely scenario where you lose, I will hit him with everything I have.”

The ancient immortal smiled back, but before she could say anything, Makya’s defined and dark-clad figure appeared framed between the two brick walls of the alley. For a split second, the headhunter hesitated, a confused look flickering across his face.

That was all they needed.

Amanda strode forth, her voice strong and commanding, rolling easily across the complicated Native American names, “Makya! Student of Ayvdaqualosgi, also known as Tocho, I am Amanda, student of Rebecca,” as she spoke, she came to a stop halfway down the alley and reached into her coat, swiftly drawing her sword. Carefully, she raised the deadly length of steel and pointed it at Makya. She held it still and steady, speaking of her skill, as she narrowed her eyes at the headhunter and finished, “I challenge you.”

As Michelle and Greg ushered the mortals back behind a nearby dumpster, she couldn’t help noticing how Makya’s face, flushed from running, drained of all color. It was gratifying to see.

Despite his obvious apprehension, Makya strode farther into the alley and drew his own sword. Head held high, he called back, “Amanda Darrieux, your challenge is met.”

For a few agonizingly long moments, the two immortals settled into fighting stances, circling each other and getting closer each time they did so. Michelle couldn’t say who made the first move, but in a flash, the two were a blur of silver and echoing clangs. Then Makya lunged, Amanda performed a glancing block, and the two spiraled apart. They resumed their circling.

“Why were you after my student?” Amanda asked venomously out of the blue, “and why did you kill Cinead?”

“I was not after the girl,” he snarled back, “I was after the so-called _doctor_.” He lunged with an overhead strike; Amanda blocked easily. “As for Cinead, he was _Mako’s_ ,” the man spat the name as though it were poisonous.

“Mako killed Ayvdaqualosgi,” Amanda ventured casually, sliding easily past the complicated name while simultaneously initiating a combination of strikes herself, “Didn’t he?”

“Don’t call him that!” Makya yelled, “He was _Tocho_.”

“He was Ayvdaqualosgi first,” Amanda pointed out, completely sidestepping her opponent’s furious lunge, causing him to completely pass her. “You may be Hopi, but he was Cherokee.”

“He lived among the Hopi for generations,” he hissed, whirling around to face her again, “And that’s good enough.”

Amanda shrugged, still casual, “Semantics.” She moved forward lithely, spinning her sword in one hand, “Anyway, while your grudge against Mako was justified, he’s _dead_. Killing his students accomplishes nothing.”

“It accomplishes everything!” Makya hissed back, circling her again, “He was Kachada, _Nukpana_.”

“’White man’ I can see. ‘Evil’ though? Really?” Amanda shook her head disapprovingly.

Makya merely snarled wordlessly and renewed his attack. It was as the pair rotated so Michelle could see the smile on her teacher’s face that she finally realized what she was trying to do; Amanda was testing Makya’s skill and riling him up so he’d be more likely to make a mistake. And it was _working_. Amanda wasn’t even using half her skill.

Beside her, Greg shook his head in amazement. “There’s no way this is a fair fight,” he murmured, voicing Michelle’s own thoughts.

“I know,” Michelle said a little smugly, “Amanda is incredible.”

“She’s toying with him, isn’t she?” Buffy said from where she was peering over Michelle’s shoulder.

“Yup,” Michelle agreed, much more relaxed than she had been even three minutes prior.

“Geeze, Buff,” Xander muttered from where he stood directly behind the dumpster, craning his neck to see over it, “I bet she could beat you with a hand tied behind her back! Imagine what she could teach the Slayerettes.”

Buffy let out an inarticulate noise at that, which Michelle chose to interpret and reluctant agreement and distracted wonder.

As the four had been talking, Amanda had casually manipulated her opponent so he was standing a scarce foot from one of the brick walls and didn’t seem to notice. As Michelle watched, a satisfied smirk flashed across her face, and she shifted her grip on her sword before performing a complicated feint-strike-disarm combo that had Michelle’s arms aching in remembrance of numerous drills. A moment later, Amanda had kicked Makya’s sword out of reach and was looming over him, the sharp blade of her sword resting across his throat.

He looked utterly stunned.

“Kneel,” Amanda commanded.

Pale and terrified, Makya sunk to his knees. It was a striking image; the wall was a red brick that shone slightly in the diffuse sunlight, causing the immortal’s black clothing to stand out, while Makya’s face was as white as the snow beneath his knees.

Michelle tried very hard not to think about how the snow would be as red as the bricks in a few moments.

“Brace yourself,” Greg murmured to the mortals, who both looked rather uncomfortable—ranging from angry to sick. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

Amanda let out a breathy sigh and raised her sword.

Michelle chose to close her eyes; she hated the Game and refused to become used to the casual violence, no matter what Amanda and every immortal she met said. Michelle _knew_ she was capable of killing, and that was all that mattered in her book.

So, instead of watching, she focused on the sounds—on Buffy and Xander shifting behind her, on Greg’s small noise of dismay (probably because she shut her eyes). She listened to Mayka’s heavy breathing that seemed to be devolving into tears, to the sloppy crunch of slush under her teacher’s feet, to her sharp breath, her loud declaration…

“There can only be one!”

There was a whoosh and a wet, sickening thwack, followed by a thump. A beat. A noise of disgust from Xander, a noise of agreement from Buffy. The crunch of slush as Amanda backed up.

The air itself began to change. It became heavier, charged. It made all the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Buffy moved forward, but was halted—Greg snarled that they needed to stay put. Michelle took a deep breath. She could smell snow and dirt and garbage, and the ever so faint ting of blood, but growing by the second was the smell of ozone. It was nearly unbearable.

A second later, there was a large crack and a flash of bright light in front of her eyelids, accompanied by a grunt of pain from her teacher.

Buffy gasped.

The lightning intensified, and soon Amanda was nearly screaming. Michelle could picture her kneeling a few feet from Makya’s body, arms thrown wide in the instinctual pose all immortals seemed to take as a new Quickening coursed through their bodies. She could see her teacher’s face—that unnamable blend of pleasure and pain.

It seemed to last forever.

Michelle was awoken from her trance by Greg, who prodded her in the side. Her eyes snapped open and she looked to her friend.

He glanced between her, the mortals, and Amanda. “We need to _move_ ,” he hissed.

Instantly spurred into action, the four moved to the scorched scene before them. Amanda was slumped forward, her head nearly touching her knees, arms braced on the bare cobblestones beneath her. Michelle rushed to her side, pointedly ignoring what was left of the headhunter, and helped her teacher to her feet. A moment later, she was joined by Buffy, who took Amanda’s other arm. She gave them both a grateful smile.

They had only taken a few steps towards the end of the alley, where Xander was peering carefully around the corners, before Greg appeared and stopped them, holding Amanda’s crudely cleaned sword. Amanda thanked him quietly, voice hoarse, as he carefully slid it into her coat.

Just then, Xander turned around and waved emphatically in a ‘come here’ motion. Michelle rolled her eyes at the mortal and chose to interpret that as ‘the coast is clear’. She shifted her grip on her teacher, Buffy following suit, and together they set out.

They moved quickly and efficiently, and Michelle found herself thankful that, of all the mortals they could have encountered, they had encountered two level-headed and physically fit ones. Michelle and Buffy had no trouble supporting Amanda, and Xander had no trouble keeping up with Greg as they scouted ahead.

They managed to make it five blocks before they heard the sirens.

Michelle glanced around Amanda and exchanged a wry look with Buffy. _That was close_.

This whole thing had been close— ever since Makya started chasing Greg. Michelle was simply relieved that it was over and that her teacher was safe and relatively sound. There were still questions, yes, but that was a whole different story. A story that apparently included magic, resurrection, and monsters.

No, Michelle wasn’t ready to consider that—all she cared to do right now was get the hell out of Inverness.

A few feet ahead of them, Xander and Greg paused and waited for them to catch up. Once they reached them, Xander gestured to the side, “The car Buffy and I drove here is just around the corner.”

Michelle allowed herself a sigh of relief.

_Almost there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masauwu is a Hopi god, thought to guard the doorway to the next World. He's known as the Master/Guardian/Door Keeper/Skeleton Man.  
> Ayvdaqualosgi is Cherokee for Thunderer-- they were storm spirits.  
> Tocho is Hopi for Mountain lion.  
> Kachada is a Hopi name for White Man, Nukpana is a Hopi name for Evil.  
> Wow. Well, that's done. I hope I'm doing ok capturing Michelle and Gregor...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the wrap up!!!

Amanda had seen a lot in her long life; she had seen real magic—thanks, of course, to Rebecca—and had, more recently, seen technology that was _basically_ magic that changed the world (over and over and over). However, she had to admit she would have run for the hills or pulled her sword if she had ended up in her present situation a mere twenty years ago.

In fact, it was all Methos’ fault.

It was Methos’ fault that she could stand here without batting an eyelash.

They were in the middle of a typical Scottish castle courtyard, complete with lush green grass and a few flower beds, albeit covered in a light dusting of snow. Pretty normal. The _odd_ part was the utter chaos caused by young girls bodily throwing each other around, snapping wooden beams like twigs, and performing impossible acts of acrobatics. It was a whirlwind of motion and yelling and, strangely, laughter.

Amanda watched with fascination as a short stocky girl whipped a human-shaped blur over her shoulder to land with a thump on a pale blue pad. She immediately whipped around to face an older girl, who was watching thoughtfully, and squealed like an excited kid. The watching girl smiled fondly and rolled her eyes. On the other side of the courtyard, which was noticeably sans pads, two ferocious looking girls were hacking away at each other—one had an axe and the other a spear—with apparently no concern for safety. Both girls were grinning widely.

Amanda could seriously get behind that. The skill each of the girls displayed was astounding—if any _one_ of them were immortal they could _easily_ reach a handful of centuries. This wasn’t the part Methos was to blame for—no, no. She would have been _delighted_ to stand in the center of a modern day Amazonian training facility _centuries_ ago.

The problem was watching it all while hearing about the incredible and fantastical things these girls were doing—the things they _fought_. Twenty years ago, Amanda would have laughed her head off. Twenty years ago, Amanda would have gotten the hell out of Dodge—probably to rob a museum instead. But now…

It was fascinating.

So, as she stood there with two much younger immortals, listening to another young excitable girl (who insisted she was ‘just a researcher’) chattering about Slayers and vampires and demons, Amanda was inordinately thankful that Methos had gotten the shock factor out of the way years ago.

 _And I should never_ ever _tell him that_ , she quickly mused before refocusing on the conversation.

“So really,” the girl was saying, “there’s not much for us to do around here anymore—we’ve wiped out the local population of vampires and only the friendly demons are left—so we’ve been going on longer trips for training missions.”

A miserable groan sounded from behind Amanda, and she turned to find Michelle rubbing the bridge of her nose. She sighed gustily, “Sorry; I’m still processing the fact that there are not only _actual_ monsters out there, but _superpowered_ _girls_ who fight them.”

Beside her, Greg frowned and nodded in agreement. He’d been unusually quiet since they’d arrived with Buffy and Xander an hour or so ago. They both seemed quite overwhelmed.

Honestly, Amanda felt a great deal of empathy for the two young immortals.

The girl (Amanda felt vaguely guilty she didn’t remember her name) nodded emphatically in agreement, “Yeah, I get it. I still remember what it was like when I found out about all of this,” she made an all-encompassing gesture that swept around the courtyard. “I mean, my sister was _the_ Slayer and secretly went out every night to hunt monsters or be trained by her school librarian who was _actually_ a member of a posh secret society that watches potential Slayers like stalkers and trains them when they’re called.” She paused and shook her head, “And on top of that, she didn’t tell me but her best friends were helping, _and_ her creepy-yet-hot college boyfriend was actually two centuries old vampire with a soul, only ‘ _oops_ he lost that pesky thing and now he’s gonna kill us’.”

Amanda blinked at the girl in confusion for a moment. _Say_ what _now?_

Michelle let out a strangled noise, “Buffy dated a _vampire_ and he tried to _kill you_?”

The girl laughed, “I know, right? It was a huge shock. But honestly,” she sobered a bit and shook her head, “Angel’s a great guy. He just has to keep an Orb of Thesulah on hand and a witch on speed dial in case he accidentally breaks his curse.”

Amanda glanced at Michelle and Greg again; they gave her pitiful looks that seemed to say ‘please don’t ask for more information’. Amanda just gave them a shrug; she’d humor them despite her curiosity.

The girl apparently didn’t catch the exchange because she frowned to herself and continued, “And then there’s Spike. He’s got a soul too, and he even got his on purpose.”

“Ok,” Amanda interrupted, staring at the girl in front of her. “I think you’ve overwhelmed Michelle and Greg—how about we track down your sister?”

“What about you?” she asked curiously.

Amanda chuckled, “I have a friend who introduced this type of thing to me a while ago.”

Michelle sidled up beside her, “Mac?”

“No,” she gave her ex-student one of her sharper smiles, “But Mac is the reason Adam came clean about demons and such.”

“You mean Adam Pierson? The Watcher who was killed in front of half the Council? The Adam that Mac trained and who’s off in the states with Richie now?” Michelle narrowed her eyes at her teacher.

“One and the same,” Amanda confirmed, fighting back a smile; she was still extremely amused at how Methos’ latest identity had died in an extraordinarily public way.

“Was he one of the Watchers Giles was talking about?” Michelle frowned, “Do you think that’s how he knew about the supernatural?”

“Maybe,” she allowed. It hadn’t come up, but honestly she had no idea whether Methos _hadn’t_ Watched Slayers before. She wouldn’t put it past the old man, especially not with the _insane_ amount of supernatural knowledge he seemed to possess. “Now,” she clapped her hands together, effectively redirecting conversation, “Shall we?”

“Yes please,” Greg muttered from behind the teacher-student pair. “Dawn? Can you lead the way?”

“Sure,” the girl— _Dawn_ —shrugged and turned on her heels to march back the way they had come. The three immortals exchanged a look before they followed her into the dreary and slightly dank labyrinth.  Many of the smooth stone walls were covered with brightly woven tapestries, but the halls themselves were practical in size and conservative in form. Which was basically a fancy way to say they small and square.

It was _amazing_ how well Dawn seemed to know the minor fortress; she led them through the maze of halls with ease, while Amanda quickly found herself relying on her internal compass. Greg and Michelle didn’t seem to have any better luck remembering the path they took, both looking around with curiosity and wariness.

After a few minutes of walking, Amanda recognized a tapestry from outside the room where they had held their initial meeting. Dawn walked confidently up to one of the identical doors and barged straight in without knocking.

“Holy _hell_! Don’t do that, Dawn!” Xander yelped.

The three immortals followed her into the meeting room at a more sedate pace. To Amanda, it looked much like it had when they had used it earlier. It was a modestly sized room that was completely taken up by a large oblong table surrounded by chairs. There were three classic arched windows in the far wall that framed the courtyard they had just come from, and the table itself was littered with piles of paper and a computer. Amanda had been surprised at that, especially when she had seen the extension cord that disappeared into a crack in one of the walls.

Now, in her second visit, Amanda was astounded by the dramatic increase of chaos. She had thought the piles were random, but now they were strewn across the table, and Buffy was practically lying on top of it all, as she was stretched across half its length to reach the computer. Xander was the closest to the door and was half out of his chair, glaring at Dawn. Giles, however, occupied the exact chair he had been in when they had left, and was smiling over his glasses at the group at the door, a sheaf of paper held in one hand.

Buffy let out a chortle and heaved herself off the table, “How was the tour?”

Michelle slid past Amanda, farther into the room, and smiled at the Slayer, “Informative.”

“Excessively so,” Greg grumbled in agreement, “My head hurts.”

Dawn turned and beamed at him like he had given her the best complement in the world.

Amanda rolled her eyes and plopped into the nearest chair, before leaning forward across the table, “And how’s the paperwork coming?”

Xander groaned dramatically and gave up his one-sided glaring contest to flop back into his chair. “It never ends,” he informed her pitifully.

“It’s hard work running the world,” Dawn agreed cheerfully. She moved to sit next to him, and the two remaining immortals moved to take seats as well.

“ _You’re_ one to talk!” Xander huffed, “You don’t help.”

Dawn scowled, “I do research.”

“Yeah, but you don’t do _paperwork_. Research is interesting. _Paperwork_ ,” he gestured at the table, “Is mind-numbing and boring. I almost miss the old Watcher Council.”

Buffy paused in shuffling through a pile of papers to frown across the table at him.

“I said almost!” he held a finger up at her, “I _almost_ miss them— _almost_.”

Michelle chuckled a little weakly, shaking her head at them. “I’m just glad _someone_ is doing it,” she mused, “You know, dealing with all the things in the shadows.”

“I’m with Michelle,” Greg sighed and rubbed at his eyes, “The Game is more than enough for me.”

Giles nodded in agreement, “I believe many individuals, mortal and immortal, share similar opinions.”

Amanda considered the experienced Watcher, frowning as she recalled what he had revealed during their first meeting, “And yet you find a sufficient number of willing volunteers amongst immortal Watchers to join as Slayer Watchers.” Around the table the mortals and immortals hummed in agreement.

“Yes, well,” he shifted in his chair and pulled off his glasses to clean them, “They are an optimal pool to select from.”

“I can see that,” Buffy nodded, “They’ve already seen the impossible…”

“So they’re willing to believe,” Xander added.

“But they can’t do much because of the _Game_ …” Buffy continued, leaning over the table.

Dawn nodded vigorously in agreement, “So they take to opportunity to _help_!” She had a huge smile on her face… for some reason.

Amanda snorted at the mortals. _Cute._

“Anyway,” Michelle jumped back in, “I think I’m ready to go back to being a normal store clerk.”

Buffy was noticeably disappointed, but she nodded in agreement with everyone else.

“I believe I’d like to go home as well—see if I still have a job at the practice,” Greg stood slowly.

Dawn jumped up, “I’ll go ask Leah to find someone to drive you back to your car.” In the next second, she was out the door. Amanda smiled slightly at her energy.

Buffy stood as well and looked to Michelle, “Keep in touch?”

She rose slowly to meet the Slayer and smiled warmly, “Definitely. This isn’t my kind of thing, but you’re pretty cool, Buffy.” Michelle offered her hand and the blonde grinned brightly as she shook it.

Xander looked to Greg, “You want our number?”

The doctor shrugged, “Why not.”

Amanda watched with detached interest as Xander dug through the piles of paper, clearly searching for either a pen or blank paper, or possibly both, before noticing everyone else had turned to her.

“You coming with us, Amanda?” Michelle asked, shoving her lightly on the shoulder. She turned to smile up at her student, and found her looking down with a face clearly saying ‘I know exactly what you’re going to do’.

“No,” she ventured, as though making a very difficult decision, “I owe Miss Summers a sparring match. I believe there was something about using only one hand, as well…”

Xander, who had just emerged victorious with a pen, yelped and dropped back into his seat. He turned to the ancient in horror, “You _heard_ that? You were _fighting_!”

Amanda simply gave the poor Watcher a sharp smile. For a moment, there was complete silence. Buffy turned to look at her with wide eyes while Giles raised a hand to hide his mouth and Xander glanced almost desperately at Greg. The doctor, however, simply gave Xander a completely neutral look, causing the mortal to grow a little pale. The moment was broken swiftly, however, when Michelle started cackling, grasping desperately at the back of her teacher’s chair in an attempt to remain upright. The rest of the room soon followed.

Amanda hadn’t expected to get pulled into a quest against the supernatural when she answered Duncan’s inconvenient call the previous night, but things were shaping up to be quite interesting. Amanda blinked at that.

 _God… Duncan has worn off on me._ If she kept this up, she’d no longer be a world-class thief.

* * *

The immortals were the talk of the Academy. It had been a mere four hours since Buffy and Xander had returned with their three new friends, and the entire castle was abuzz. Two of them were gone, but it was all anyone could talk about.

Once they had arrived, the immortals had sat down with Giles and Dawn and talked through the basics. However, to be honest, Buffy was still processing the fact that Giles had known about immortals and, more importantly, _personally knew one_ for a long while _._ It hurt a little that he’d never mentioned it, but Buffy supposed that five years ago she probably wouldn’t have reacted all that favorably to a secret society of immortal beings locked in a constant death match.

When she put it that way, she was still tempted to… do something violent.

Regardless, after the long explanations Dawn had declared a tour mandatory and drug Michelle, Greg and Amanda off around the vast building while Xander and Buffy caught up on headquarters paperwork with Giles. It was nice to have the librarian back, even if it was only temporary.

The tour had prompted the departure of the two younger immortals (which had been expected) and the surprising declaration from Amanda that she was staying. So, shortly after dinner, Buffy found herself in the courtyard surrounded by the rest of the Academy, facing Amanda.

The Slayer wasn’t quite sure what to make of the immortal. Giles said she was _ancient_ , on the order of over a thousand years old, and Buffy herself had seen how dangerous she was first hand. But at the same time… she was all mischief and smiles, and she practically exuded a ‘bad girl’ aura.

Frankly, Amanda reminded Buffy of Faith, and that was both exciting and frightening.

Currently, said immortal was giving Buffy that sharp grin of hers while Xander carefully tied her left hand behind her back. Literally.

She had _actually_ insisted on following through on that part.

The crowd of trainees and trainers was practically vibrating with excitement and speculation, and Buffy couldn’t blame them. As Buffy watched Xander step away and Amanda shift in her bindings, expertly swinging her sword in her free hand, she found herself admiring the immortal’s effortless grace and confidence.

“Alright,” Leah stepped up in between them, “Don’t deal permanent damage, but show us what you’ve got.” The Slayer and immortal both nodded in agreement.

“Let’s get on with it!” a girl yelled from the back of the crowd. There was a smattering of laughter and Leah rolled her eyes.

Amanda grinned at Buffy, and Buffy found herself grinning back and raising her sword.

“Alright, fine,” Leah rubbed her hands together and stepped back a few paces, “Ready, and… Go!”

Amanda lunged first, with a simple side strike. Buffy blocked and countered. Amanda responded in kind. In a matter of seconds, they were moving in a blur, swords flashing in the growing intensity, metal reflecting the mage-lights floating overhead (courtesy of the youngest resident witch).

It seemed like a pretty typical fight; Amanda wasn’t hindered at all with a hand behind her back; Buffy found herself marveling distantly at how smoothly she moved, even as she caught sight of one of the combos Amanda had used on Makya and blocked accordingly.

The crowd let out a wave of ‘oooo’s and one of the younger Slayers squealed excitedly. Buffy even heard Dawn let out a whoop that sounded like, “You’ve got this, Buffy!”

Amanda gave Buffy a pleased smile and broke off from her constant attack.

Buffy huffed and rolled her eyes a bit, “What? I just saw you behead a guy with that move. I’m not going to fall into the same trap.”

“That’s good,” the immortal’s smile turned sharp, “But you should really only banter when you’re better than your opponent.”

Buffy frowned and opened her mouth to respond, but was forced to stop and focus on the fight as Amanda lunged in, performing a complicated side-step swirl thing Buffy couldn’t follow, coming in with a low side strike. Buffy blocked it by the skin of her teeth, and struggled to keep up with the flurry of attacks that followed. By the time Amanda had worked her halfway across the open area, the crowd was almost deafening with their cheers.

Then Amanda whirled into an overhead strike and Buffy saw her chance. She used a glancing block and stepped in with a sweeping downward strike aimed at the torso…

And she was on her back.

Buffy blinked a little dumbly up at the cloudy night sky, wondering how that had happened. She no longer had her sword either, she noted, and the crowd was practically screaming. _There’s gonna be a lot of sore throats in the morning_.

A moment later, Amanda’s smiling face appeared in her field of view, followed closely by a hand.

“You aren’t bad,” she declared with that same sharp smile, “for a mortal. But, _Slayer_ … you’ve still got a lot to learn.”

Buffy reached up to accept the hand, her face practically splitting with a grin.

See… Buffy had been pretty sure she had seen everything, that she’d learned enough. She thought the world was simple. Weird, yes, but _simple_. And she didn’t like having that turned on its head; she _hadn’t_ appreciated the confusion the rash of beheadings had presented. But maybe—just _maybe_ —she was pleased with the result.

 _A teacher with over a thousand years of experience_ , Buffy mused as she righted herself and accepted Amanda’s one armed hug, _That’s kinda awesome._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been a wild ride-- it's been hard because it kept giving me ideas for all of the other stories I'm going to be writing in this series! Well, it's done now, and I'm pretty happy with it; all the characters are right where I want them.  
> (Mwhahahahaha... uh. *awkwardly clears throat*)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
